


But They Open with Song, I Have Heard

by bertie456 (bertee)



Series: Bones: You're Lovely to Me [29]
Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-01
Updated: 2008-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:24:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bertee/pseuds/bertie456





	But They Open with Song, I Have Heard

"Looks like someone got out of the wrong side of bed this morning."

Hearing the smirking remark from behind him, Booth couldn't stop his shoulders from slumping in annoyance, partly at the sound of Cam's voice interrupting his current Bones-seeking mission, and partly because the expression "got out of the wrong side of bed" had been painfully accurate that morning.

Previously, he'd thought the phrase was ridiculous, not understanding how one side of the bed could be hold any mystical powers of crappiness over his day. He was fairly certain that if he asked his girlfriend of four months, she would provide him with some long-winded and mostly incomprehensible explanation about how the native tribes of upper Sasquatch used to put hot coals or sharp spikes down one side of their beds to keep away monkeys and/or evil spirits, but since he hadn't asked Brennan, he was fairly comfortable in his belief that it was a stupid saying.

That was until he'd woken up that morning, got out of "the wrong side" of his bed, tripped over his son's Tickle-Me Elmo and nearly knocked himself out when his head collided with his bedside table.

The fact that his return to full consciousness was accompanied by the decidedly mocking laughter of a small red Muppet hadn't helped his mood any, and after kicking Elmo back into Parker's apparent toy-storage area under his bed with a little more force than necessary, he'd finally made it to the bathroom to assess the damage.

Unfortunately, the result of smacking one's head against a hard, wooden cabinet was generally not a positive one, and Booth had then been forced to get dressed and eat breakfast with one hand holding an ice-pack to his face to bring down the swelling. By the time he'd reached the Hoover building to commence his day of mandatory, Temperance-Brennan-free, training lectures, he was developing a full-on black eye which only worsened as the day progressed.

Because an Elmo-inflicted black eye obviously wasn't humiliating enough at the best of times, his superiors had arranged the lectures so that the agents could "mingle" with different divisions, effectively ensuring that Booth and his shiny new black eye were seen by every single agent in the building. This provoked mixed reactions from his co-workers, both of which were equally unpleasant for Booth.

A fair proportion of the female agents, and a small proportion of the men, seemed to think that Florence Nightingale was an excellent source for chat-up lines and so made attempts at playing doctors-and-nurses in an uncomfortable carousel of sympathy, petting, and personal space invasion. This problem was soon solved though, and he'd watched in amusement as, one-by-one, his over-enthusiastic helpers beat a hasty retreat at the mention of his genius doctor girlfriend with violent tendencies.

This didn't deter most of his buddies though, and being part of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the men couldn't resist positing a variety of scenarios as to how he got the bruise. Since Booth maintained his "No comment" stance, the topic had quickly become a source of entertainment during the mind/ass numbingly boring lectures, with guesses ranging from the simple, "What, did a suspect get in a lucky punch?" to the traditional, "Did you forget to pay off any loan sharks this week, Seel? Or maybe the IRS?" to the downright ludicrous, "You get in a food fight? With very overcooked food?"

However, it didn't take long for the jokes to become more personal, and Booth had tried hard not to rise to the bait at the suggestion, "Maybe a clown did it, guys. I mean, we all know Booth's got it in for them... Anyone know if there's a circus in town?" and, "How do we know it wasn't one of those science-types you work with? That why you're keeping so quiet, Seel? Don't want to admit you got blindsided by a squint?"

Knowing that getting his ass handed to him by Elmo was still worse, he'd ignored them for most of the day until his cunning nurse-deterrent came back to bite him on the ass, specifically the "violent tendencies" aspect of Brennan's personality. Before Agent Fyne could say "rough sex", Booth had given the other agent a matching black eye before being kicked out of the training session by Cullen, and ordered to attend the anger management seminar on Saturday and the safe sex help group on Sunday.

So, thoroughly miserable, he'd headed over to the Jeffersonian, figuring it was still early evening and that Brennan would likely still be there to provide comfort, support and possibly even sex in a supply closet. Slightly buoyed by the prospect of any time spent with his partner, sex or no sex, he'd hurried through the lab, mowing down a couple of interns on the way, but attributing it to the greater good, before he'd been stopped by Cam's inane but deadly accurate observation.

Sighing in frustration, he turned to face her, waiting for the inevitable reaction.

"Ouch, what happened to you?"

 _Always was predictable,_ he thought morosely before mustering a civil tone, "Nothing, I'm fine. Is Bones in her office?"

"I don't know," the pathologist replied with a shrug, returning to her original question before he could press further, "Seeley, you sure you're okay? That's a nasty looking bruise."

 _You don't say._ Unable to find a word to describe just how much he didn't want to share the Elmo Strikes Back story with his ex, he nudged the conversation back toward his partner, "It's nothing, _Camille_. Did you say Bones was still here?"

Cam folded her arms, indicating that the conversation was grounded until further notice. Ignoring his question, she approached him, asking with mixed sympathy and curiosity, "Did you get in a fight?"

 _Does me vs furniture count as a fight?_ "It's nothing, okay?" he repeated, his tone slightly edgier now. "Parker, he... His toys... It was an accident, alright? Now where's Bo-"

Before he could finish, Zach chimed in, moving from his nearby workstation to stand next to his boss, "You shouldn't be ashamed about admitting domestic abuse, Agent Booth."

Booth just blinked, looking at Zach in utter confusion. To her credit, Cam also looked entirely baffled by the out-of-the-blue nature of Zach's comment. Seeing that words had failed the agent, she asked, bewildered, "Domestic abuse?"

The young man nodded, saying with an air of recitation, "I read a pamphlet about domestic abuse when I visited my doctor. It said that victims will often dismiss injuries as accidents or take the blame on themselves." He turned to Booth. "There are apparently lots of helplines you can call."

"You think Booth's being abused?" Cam asked to clarify, unable to hide her smirk at this theory.

"Yes," Zach replied gravely. "We are supposed to show support and encouragement." With an open palm, he moved forward and patted Booth on the shoulder. "Like that."

Booth continued to stare at him, almost waiting for the punchline to come, while Cam tried to hold back her laughter as she addressed the young doctor, "Zach, I really don't think Booth's being abused. He probably just got into a bar fight and is too embarrassed to admit it; right, Booth?"

He studiously avoided her gaze, and Zach spoke up again, "I don't have first-hand knowledge of any bar fights, but I believe the metaphor "fists were flying" is generally used to imply that punching is a large component and the shape of the bruise is not congruent with an adult's fist." He looked at his superior. "Your area of expertise is more suited to this situation than mine."

Curious, Cam moved closer to Booth, turning his face firmly to the side to get a look at the bruising while he tried to push her hand away, "Would you stop looking at me like I'm a dead person? I was very much alive and un-corpse-like the last time I checked."

Ignoring his protests, the pathologist nodded, replying to the other scientist, "You're right, Zach. The shape of this bruise isn't consistent with a fist. It looks squarer, like a paddle or a cricket bat or a plank..." She dropped her hand down, her voice softening as she asked with genuine worry, "Booth, did someone do this to you?"

"You mentioned your son and his toys," Zach contributed helpfully. "The pamphlet said that it's possible for ill-disciplined children to become violent toward their parents, especially when they don't get their own way."

Booth's mouth fell open in utter disbelief, unsure whether to be amused or offended, "You think that my seven-year-old, four-foot-two, very well-disciplined son managed to give me a black eye?"

Zach apparently missed the annoyance in his tone and concurred, "That seems to be a rational possibility."

 _Okay, whoever gives out the title of "genius" needs to rethink his criteria,_ Booth decided, before replying forcefully, "No, kid, it's not rational! Thinking my son came at me with a plank is not a 'rational possibility'!" He sighed, running his hand through his hair. "This is why you people suck at interpretation."

Frowning slightly at the insult, Cam came to Zach's defense. "It was a logical conclusion, Seeley. You've got a bruise that isn't from a fist, you won't say where you got it, you talked about your son – it was a reasonable suggestion."

 _Is there something in the water at this place?_ "Suggesting that my son is like a small angry pygmy is not reasonable, Camille. And yeah, I know that abuse can happen anywhere, but you know Parker; does he really seem like the kid from 'The Omen' to you?"

"No," Cam admitted sheepishly before remembering the point of their conversation. "But if it wasn't him, what do his toys have to do with the bruise on your face?" She chuckled. "Did Tickle-Me Elmo magically become Roundhouse-Kick Elmo?"

A panicked expression flashed across Booth's face at the light-hearted joke and Cam's eyes widened in surprise, barely able to contain her laughter as she asked, "Oh god, don't tell me you got attacked by Elmo?"

"Didn't you used to be a Ranger?" Zach asked, bemused but entirely sincere. "Shouldn't you be able to defend yourself against a puppet?"

The pathologist couldn't hold back her snort of laughter at this point, and Booth folded his arms, glowering at the two of them as he argued, "It was an accident, okay? I didn't see the toy, and I lost my balance."

"Elmo took you down," Cam summarized, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

"Thank you so much for the sympathy," he replied sarcastically. "Please, remind me of this next time you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend."

A matching look of embarrassment now spread across Cam's face and Booth gave her a smug grin when he heard Zach inquire, "You asked Agent Booth to impersonate your boyfriend?"

Giving her a wink with his black eye, Booth began to back away toward Brennan's office, saying with mock-enthusiasm, "Have fun..."

Satisfied with the murderous look on the pathologist's face as Zach continued his questions, Booth walked away quickly, stifling a laugh as another of Zach's questions echoed through the lab, "Do you often hire men as escorts for that purpose?"

Still tired and grouchy despite giving Cam a taste of her own medicine, Booth approached his girlfriend's office with a strange sense of desperation, hoping that she would be the one good thing in a day that had so far consisted of boredom, public humiliation, and both Muppet and human violence. A small smile crossed his face at the thought of seeing Brennan for the first time since before his weekend with his son and he involuntarily licked his lips, already thinking about the feel of her in his arms and the taste of her tongue against his.

With his mind now firmly on an auto-pilot which consisted of _Bones Bones Bones Bones Bones_ , Booth turned his key in the newly installed, and very useful, lock on her office door, ready to play the part of the dashing (yet currently emotionally needy) Prince Charming who sweeps the princess off her feet, takes her home, and shows her just how much he loves her through the skillful use of his tongue, fingers and other body parts.

"Bones? You her-"

The question didn't stand a chance of completion, since the door clattered open to reveal Angela and Hodgins in a passionate clinch against the wall of Brennan's office. Booth's mouth dropped open at the sight, the image of things that he never ever wanted to picture now burned into his brain, while the couple looked over at him in shock, Angela giving a yelp of surprise as she struggled to cover herself and Hodgins staying firmly in place, clearly figuring that there was no appropriate way to disentangle himself without further exposure.

 _Retinas. Scarred for life._ Unsure where to look, Booth fixed his eyes on the floor, his hand on the door handle as he backed out, stammering, "I, uh, I'm just going to go fu- find Bones."

"She's not here," Angela informed him quickly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she watched the retreating agent.

Keeping his gaze down, Booth started to close the door as he called back, "Yep, I got that. I'll go look, uh, somewhere else."

Slamming the door shut, he suppressed a shudder as he quickly relocked it, thinking hopefully, _If I lock the door, it never happened. It's just an empty room where Angela and Hodgins are not having sex against a wall._ Another shudder washed over him and he thought bitterly, _If I need counseling for this, then Hodgins is paying._

With mental trauma acting as the icing on the cake of Seeley Booth's Day from Hell, the dejected agent headed out of the Jeffersonian, deciding that no good could possibly come from any further encounters that day. Sacrificing his previous Bones hunt for a night spent wallowing in self-pity with some beers and a game, he headed to his apartment, making a mental note to call Brennan and explain the day's events.

 _'Sorry, Bones, but after I got knocked out by a cuddly toy, mocked by every agent in the FBI, and walked in on your best friend going at it with her fiance in your office, I needed alcohol and solitude._ ' Pulling into his parking space, he sighed _, Okay, maybe the I-chose-alcohol-over-you reasoning isn't the best. I'll just go with 'Sorry, Bones, I had a headache.' Yep, that'll be fine._

Aware of the pathetic nature of his excuse, he trudged up the stairs to his apartment, his misery amplified with every step _. Because my day just wouldn't be as fun if someone had actually been in to fix the elevators_. As he unlocked his door and dumped his keys, coat and files on a nearby chair, it took a moment for his mind to process the music blaring from his kitchen. Groaning in frustration, he tried in vain to remember whether he'd left the radio on that morning, and if he would now have a load of irate messages from his neighbor on his machine.

Hoping that Mrs Barlow from next door had forgotten to put her hearing aid in that morning, he wandered to the kitchen to shut the music off, mumbling something about short-term memory loss after a blow to the head. However, when he walked in, the sight that greeted him made him want to do anything but silence the song currently playing.

His partner stood by his cooker with her back to him and her hips swaying in time to the old Kinks song filling the kitchen. Booth vaguely registered the smell of her now-legendary Mac and Cheese, his attention instead focused on the way her body moved in time to the repeated rhythm of the guitar and the strong beat of the drums, seemingly oblivious to his presence.

A genuine smile of relaxation tugged at his lips as she sang along to the words, lost in the song and in the action of stirring the pan in front of her, "I believe that you and me last forever." He grinned as she nodded her head in time, her neat curls falling on her shoulders as she continued, "All day and night-time yours, leave me never."

Booth edged further into the kitchen as the song got louder, and couldn't stop himself from laughing under his breath as Brennan lifted the board of grated cheese and scraped it into the sauce in time with the music, "The only time I feel alright is by your side."

Cheese deposited, Booth could feel himself nodding in time with the music as his girlfriend used the wooden spoon she was holding to play the air drums, her smile practically audible as she sang loudly, "Girl, I want to be with you all of the time, all day and all of the night."

As she repeated the refrain, he couldn't help but relax under the atmosphere of carefree enthusiasm which spread throughout the kitchen, wondering if there was anything better than the sight of his stunningly intelligent and drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend singing along to Sixties music while she danced around his kitchen.

 _I got nothing,_ his brain informed him as he watched Brennan stir the pot, the smell of melting cheese wafting through the kitchen along with his partner's singing. _Nope, there's no improving on perfection and this seems pretty damn perfect._

Unable to erase the smile from his face at this conclusion, he moved in closer, marveling at the fact that she was so involved in the cookery or, more likely, the singing and drum-miming, that she hadn't noticed him approach. Standing behind her, he slid his hands onto her hips, murmuring in her ear in time with the song's chorus, "Bones, I want to be with you all of the time."

His brain caught up a millisecond later with a disdainful retort, _May I present Seeley Booth, King of Cheese._

Unfortunately, Brennan's spoon caught up with him as well, and she instinctively thwacked him on the cheek with the cheese-covered spoon, understandably surprised to find someone grabbing her by the waist and whispering bastardized song lyrics in her ear. Whimpering in pain at the feel of overly warm cheese colliding with his face, Booth backed off, wiping himself clean and trying not to acknowledge the new-found aptness of his King of Cheese title.

To her credit, Brennan rallied quickly and dropped the spoon back in the pan as she followed Booth to the sink, apologising as much as she ever did, "I didn't hear you come in."

He shook his head with a smile, "It's my fault. Should've known better than to sneak up on you while you were cooking."

She shrugged good-naturedly, "I did think you would've learned from the sea bass incident."

"What can I say; I'm a glutton for punishment."

Her fingers traced his bruise as she made a 'Hmm' sound, and Booth's smile faded, wondering if he was going to get a repeat of the suffocating concern or the merciless mocking. _Or both,_ his mind prompted. _Here's betting she can multi-task._

However, as though acting as further proof that he shouldn't be gambling, she did neither, instead looking at him with a mixture of severity and sympathy after gauging when the injury was received, "Did you put some Arnica on that this morning?"

He shook his head and she sighed, moving over to the cupboard and handing him a tube of cream before turning her attention back to the stove. Rubbing the remedy into his bruise, his smile returned at the simple reminder of just why he was so in love with this woman.

Deciding that she needed a reminder of just why she was in love with a man who jumped out at her while she was cooking and obviously couldn't take care of his own (mostly self-inflicted) injuries, Booth flicked the radio off before moving to stand behind her again, kissing her neck as he whispered honestly, "What would I do without you?"

Enjoying the attention, Temperance let her head fall back against his shoulder, his hands nestling snugly at her hips while she listed, "Well... you'd have to make your own dinner after a day of boring lectures that you've been dreading for two weeks, that bruise would last a few days longer if no-one reminded you to put Arnica on it, and your hands would currently be moving down, not up if you wanted a sexual release."

Looking down, Booth realised his hands had been slowly inching their way up her abdomen toward her breasts while she was talking, and he smiled against her neck, giving her breasts a purposeful squeeze as he leaned over for a kiss. The taste of the creamy sauce lingered in her mouth, and Booth deepened the kiss, spinning her round to face him and savoring the tang of the cuisine mixed with her own unique flavor.

Briefly wondering whether it would be possible to eat all meals off his partner to obtain that same sensation, he reached behind her to turn the cooker off, only to find that it had already been done. He pulled back, eyeing her curiously, and she shrugged, a knowing sparkle in her eye, "Please, you think I don't know where food ranks on your list of priorities?"

He grinned. "On top of everything else but under you?"

She flashed him a wicked smile in return, "Now, are you talking about food or yourself?"

 _And introducing Dr Temperance Brennan, the Queen of Cheese._ Making no promises about which of them would end up on top, Booth pulled her into another kiss as they both moved round the corner to the bedroom, lips not leaving each other's bodies. Coming to rest in a sitting position on the bed, Booth all but pulled her on top of him, his fingers toying with the buttons on her top while she made quick work of his shirt and tie.

Still trailing hungry kisses down her neck and chest, he shifted himself back onto the bed, discarding his shirt as Brennan climbed up beside him. Her shirt soon met his on the floor, and as their hands and lips continued to explore, Booth couldn't help but grin as a solution to his early problem crossed his mind.

 _To avoid getting out of bed on the wrong side, don't ever get out of bed._


End file.
